


'cause being your punchline still is something

by notinthisarmy



Category: Coolgames Inc. (Podcast) RPF, McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF, Polygon (YouTube) RPF
Genre: D/s, M/M, Masturbation, Name-Calling, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 14:59:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11511774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notinthisarmy/pseuds/notinthisarmy
Summary: For once, Griffin waits in silence. His foot is still resting against Nick’s ankle, surprisingly icy considering their exertions. Nick breathes. Drops his hands.“Sometimes,” he says, “you can be a real jerk.”Griffin’s foot draws back. “Nick, I…” He sounds like his heart is sinking into the floor, and Nick rushes to clarify.“No, shit, that came out wrong. I like it?"





	'cause being your punchline still is something

**Author's Note:**

> Definitely, definitely pay attention to the tags. The name-calling here is mostly like intelligence-based stuff, but things get mean, and while this is definitely consensual and takes place in an established relationship, you shouldn't read if you think it might mess you up. Thanks!
> 
> Title comes from Saint Motel's "Sweet Talk".

“Shit,” Griffin exclaims, and lets out a shrill laugh. “Shit!”

Nick pulls off of his softening cock with a quiet pop, crawls up the length of his body, and collapses with about a quarter of his weight still on Griffin.

“Yeah?” Nick says, aiming to tease. Griffin is too blissed out to notice.

“Yeah, dude, shit, I love when you do that, act all - restrained or whatever, and then just - dive down, all of a sudden?”

Nick drops his head, tucks it into the curve of Griffin’s shoulder. “That’s, uh, that’s good.”

“And I know it’s fucking predictable, but when you swallow, and you look up at me -”

“Oh my god, Griffin.” Nick wants to smother his burning face in the pillow now. “We just fucked and you are _still_ horny -”

“I am not, I’m expressing my _gratitude_ , I’m _communicating._ Communication is good, Nicolas, how are we ever going to know what to do for each other if we don’t com _mun_ icate?”

“I mean, call me old-fashioned, I’ve been figuring it out mostly based on sight and sound -”

“But you don’t _have_ to. Come on, you can talk to me a little. There’s gotta be stuff you like more than other stuff, I know there is… Maybe even stuff you wanna try?”

It’s more than a little frustrating to Nick that he still can’t keep from getting embarrassed when Griffin gets like this. It doesn’t matter how many silent repetitions of _You’re both adults_ he puts himself through; Griffin is so casual, and it only makes Nick freeze up even more. Griffin shares things so easily, _I think it’d be cool if you were on top this time, does that sound good?_ and _You should put your fingers in my mouth, let me suck on them -_

Nick has hesitated too long, he knows. Griffin is latching onto it, turning towards him. “ _Niiick_ , come on, you’ve gotta tell me…”

“Give me a minute, you absolute pest,” Nick says, but he’s laughing. Griffin is open and earnest and is nice enough to let him squirm away, put his hands over his face for a moment. “Jesus.”

For once, Griffin waits in silence. His foot is still resting against Nick’s ankle, surprisingly icy considering their exertions. Nick breathes. Drops his hands.

“Sometimes,” he says, “you can be a real jerk.”

Griffin’s foot draws back. “Nick, I…” He sounds like his heart is sinking into the floor, and Nick rushes to clarify.

“No, shit, that came out wrong. I like it? God.”

Griffin hesitates, then presses his leg up against Nick’s, scoots a little closer. “Go on?”

Nick sighs, staring up at the ceiling, trying to find patterns in the stucco. “Sometimes you get mean, and it can be… like, not all the time, but I think about it. You. Being mean to me. Calling me names.”

“What kind of names? You’ve gotta be a little more specific, unless you like when I call you, like, stupid idiot -” And here, Griffin kind of laughs, and Nick has to cover his face again, pressing so hard on his eyes that stars crackle in the black behind his eyelids.

“Oh,” Griffin says, and then - “Fuck, no, I didn’t mean to laugh, Nick, it’s not funny - it was a nervous tick, okay, I’m sorry…”

He’s wrapping himself around Nick, a little awkward with Nick’s elbows digging into his sides. Nick kind of wants to curl up into a little ball, but Griffin’s still talking.

“That’s not a bad thing, c’mon, I just didn't expect it but it's like… that could be good, that could be really good. Walk me through it? Please?”

Nick lifts his hands, can't quite put his arms down until Griffin realizes why and shifts his embrace. “I - I don’t know, it’s not like it turns me on when you make fun of me for fucking up in a video game, it’s just that you’re… good at it?”

“Uh-huh.” Griffin is holding still, like weirdly still, thinking hard, and probably feeling nervous about scaring Nick off again. Nick sighs.

“I don’t have a play-by-play for you,” Nick says, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “It’s not… fully-formed.”

What he means - what he can’t say - is he’s never let himself think about it long enough to develop some detailed fantasy. It’s a furtive thought saved for those moments when he’s chasing orgasm and his mind is too frenzied to feel any embarrassment; and afterwards, he wipes it from his brain, doesn’t let himself dwell.

“Okay,” Griffin says, and gives him a squeeze. “But it’s like… an intelligence thing. Or competence?”

“It... Yes? Both?”

“Okay,” Griffin repeats. “We’ll figure it out, don’t worry.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


It’s an intensely embarrassing conversation, but it passes out of Nick’s thoughts soon enough. The next morning they have toast and Nick lambasts Griffin for his peanut butter choices (“Peanut butter without salt or sugar is just cardboard paste!”) and they settle into their normal rhythm. Visits aren’t always frequent, but it’s uncanny how quick they can slip into this; for Nick, anyway, it’s the weeks afterwards that are stranger, looking over and not finding Griffin looking back.

They still have work to do - Griffin clears off half his desk so they can sit together on their laptops, writing or editing, attending video conferences. It’s nice, having company, even when they’re silent - the occasional loneliness of working from home is nowhere to be found. Nick can reach over and bump his socked foot against Griffin’s whenever he wants. At night they play PUBG and drink beer, and mostly they’re still not that good at the game but it’s too satisfying to give up on. And Griffin buys much better beer than Nick, who’ll drink PBR until it’s pried out of his hands.

It’s not until a couple days later, when Nick gets distracted playing with Cecil, trailing a string along the floor to be chased, and he burns the rice casserole he had in the oven. Griffin laughs as Nick goes around opening all the windows, trying to keep the smoke detector from going off, and he says, his voice buoyant with a strange delight, “You dummy.”

Nick looks at him, and he’s just smiling, hands on his laptop’s keyboard but eyes on Nick. And Nick doesn’t know what to make of it, but he knows he’s faltered, frozen up a little, and there’s no way Griffin didn’t notice.

They end up having boxed macaroni, and Griffin doesn’t even give him too much of a hard time. Which somehow only makes Nick’s mind race faster.

  
  
  
  


“Nick,” comes Griffin’s voice, floating down the hall. Nick stops brushing his teeth to listen.

“Yeah?”

“Bring me a glass of water when you come?”

There’s a characteristic whine to Griffin’s voice that says he knows he’s being unreasonable; the bedroom is halfway between the bathroom and the kitchen. But Nick leans down into the sink, spits out some toothpaste foam, and calls back, “Sure.”

When he comes in, Griffin is sitting up against the headboard on top of the covers, scrolling on his phone. He glances up, at the glass of water and then at Nick’s face. He puts his phone down on the nightstand.

“You didn’t get ice,” he says, his tone suddenly flat.

Nick lets out a huff of a laugh. “You didn’t ask for any,” he points out, and Griffin’s eyes narrow just a bit. There’s a dangerous new tilt to his head.

“I didn’t know this would be _difficult_ for you,” Griffin says, a note of disappointment in his voice. Nick thinks back to that evening, the bubble of joy in the way Griffin had called him _dummy._

Nick knows this is ridiculous, that Griffin doesn’t really think he’s a mind-reader and that the water came from a Brita filter that Griffin keeps in the fridge. But despite himself, he feels something open up inside of him, feels suddenly small and uncertain and _needy._ He shifts his weight. His head is starting to feel a little light.

“Come here,” Griffin says, swinging his legs over so he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. Nick approaches him, shuffling his feet a little, half-offering the glass of unacceptable water. Griffin takes it, sets it down next to his phone, and looks back up at Nick. And Nick can see it then, for a moment, a little glimmer in Griffin’s eye, a brief flicker of a smile on his lips. “Nick, come on. I think you know that was a dumb oversight, don’t you?”

But of course it _wasn’t_ , and Nick wonders which answer will get him what he wants. Wonders what it _is_ he even wants. Griffin reaches up, presses down a little on his shoulder. Nick falls to his knees, and yes, that’s definitely in the realm of things he wants.

“I’m gonna need you to admit that for me, Nicolas,” Griffin says, all soft and faux-sympathetic. And it isn’t stubbornness that keeps him from giving in; he feels, suddenly, struck dumb in a much more literal sense. His tongue is heavy and useless and his brain feels fuzzy and Griffin is winding a hand into his hair to hold tight at the roots. “Do you need _help_?”

Nick doesn’t know what help involves, but Griffin hardly gives him time to answer.

“It was pretty stupid of you not to think of getting ice,” Griffin says, enunciating carefully. “Wasn’t it?”

And he uses the hand in Nick’s hair to nod his head.

Nick feels very far away for a moment, dazed by the sensation of his perspective shifting on someone else’s orders. He tries to crawl back to awareness, make some semblance of a defense, if only because he wants to see what Griffin will do.

“It _is_ cold,” he gets out, sounding whinier than he means to. Griffin’s mouth twists in a strange smile and with his free hand, he reaches over to the water. He dips his fingers in it, clicks his tongue, and withdraws them. Nick opens his mouth to better explain himself, although he doesn’t know if he has the words.

It doesn’t matter. Suddenly, Griffin’s wet hand is in front of his nose, and in a quick sharp motion he flicks the water from his fingers, all over Nick’s face. Nick flinches hard, both at the shock of the cold spray and at the hand that comes _so_ close to hitting him. His heart is speeding up, getting louder, till he can feel it banging in his throat. And stirring something in his gut.

Griffin wipes the rest of the water off on Nick’s shirt. “Look at me,” he says, the simplest request that Nick has ever struggled with. Griffin’s eyes are wide, intent - he’s doing his best to read Nick’s face, and Nick realizes he doesn’t know what it’s saying. He’s anxious as hell, but leaning into it, in this controlled environment where he knows the pit in his stomach isn’t bottomless - Griffin can pull him out anytime he chooses. And it’s impossible to know what kind of expression will tell Griffin that, but he does as he’s told: he looks up. Blinks the water from his lashes. Licks a stray drop from his bottom lip.

All the tension leaves Griffin’s face. His shoulders drop, his head tilts, and there is a slick satisfaction radiating off of him. “I think your problem is you don’t even try,” he says. He reaches out, takes hold of Nick’s chin, his thumb settling in the well below Nick’s mouth. His grip isn’t tight enough to be uncomfortable, but it’s enough to drag Nick’s lower lip down. “You know how attractive you are -”

And Nick doesn’t mean to react to that, but it was so _nice_ , so unexpected in this sea of distaste that he feels his face opening up - he doesn’t smile, can’t quite properly with Griffin’s hand as it is, but his eyebrows lift, his eyes widen - and then with the other hand Griffin gives him a tap on the cheek, light but quick, just enough to shut the whole thing down.

“That’s not a compliment,” Griffin says. “Come on. This is what I’m talking about. You think your pretty face will get you everything. You just sit there with that gaping mouth and you expect me to walk you through everything. You’re _lazy_.”

His thumb shifts then, curls until his nail is digging into Nick’s lip, opening his mouth, and Nick lets his jaw drop - maybe more than was being asked, because Griffin lets out a quiet laugh.

“Why should I _care_ ,” Griffin says, and he sounds fed up, as though Nick has tried his patience too many times. Nick wants to squirm closer, touch Griffin anywhere else but that cruel sharp edge pressing into his lip, even if it’s just his knees against Griffin’s feet - but he doesn’t move. Griffin is waiting for an answer. “What’ll you do for me, hm?”

He lets Nick’s lip go free, then, though he’s still holding Nick’s chin, keeping it tilted up. His other fingers - Nick can feel them, lain idly against his throat, the knuckles little points of pressure too light to do anything, but too present to ignore.

“Fuck me,” Nick blurts, too loud and hurried. It’s funny, how fast it all rushes out, considering he usually has to psych himself up to talk about this stuff, but Griffin looks so exasperated, like he could walk out at any moment, and Nick’s throat is closing up at the thought of that - “You can fuck me anywhere, I want you to - my mouth, I’ll lie on my back and take it in my throat until I can’t breathe, my ass -”

“ _Nick_ ,” Griffin says, and he actually pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment, squeezes his eyes shut, before looking back down.  “Nick, those are just _holes_.” Nick’s whole body shudders at that, the way Griffin sighs out the word, the way he sounds so very disappointed.

“And that’s still me doing the work,” Griffin goes on, and he lets go of Nick’s chin to tap his other cheek, still nowhere near hard enough to _be_ anything. “Do you see, it’s like you’re just wired to be complacent.”

Nick swallows. Griffin isn’t touching him anymore at all, and he hadn’t realized how grounding it had been - even when it was uncomfortable, it was something. He needs to think, needs to do better, needs to fight the urge to ask _what do you want, what do I say to make you happy, what do you want me to do_ -

It isn’t the point.

Griffin’s hands are flat on the bed, bracing him as he leans back a little, stares down at Nick like he’s only half-interested. Nick wants to touch him so bad. Anywhere - his ankles, his calves, his thighs  -

“I can do the work,” Nick says, squeezing his hands into fists at his sides. “Let me suck your dick, I’ll make it good, you can come in my mouth and I’ll - I’ll -” He’s faltering, feels his face heat up as he scrambles for something better to say.

Griffin touches him again, grips his whole jaw from beneath, tipping his head farther back: the relief fills Nick so abruptly that he sags a little into Griffin’s hand.

“That’s cute,” says Griffin, sounding anything but charmed. “Is that the best you can come up with?”

Nick pulls his lip into his mouth, sucks on it, heart pounding. He doesn’t know what to offer up that won’t be turned away, and the desperation is a living thing inside of him, heavy, torturous.

“Maybe you’d be more creative if it was for yourself,” Griffin suggests. “What do _you_ want, Nicolas?” He’s squeezing Nick’s face, pushing his lips into a pout, and Nick knows how ridiculous it must look - he wants to close his eyes, but he doesn’t do it, not with Griffin staring at him so intently. He’s so hard, too hard for not having been touched even once. The material of his pyjama pants isn’t soft enough for this to be entirely comfortable.

“I -” Nick gets out, before Griffin’s letting him go again, rubbing a palm on the duvet as if getting something off his hand.

“No, don’t worry, I remember. You want me to call you names, isn’t that right? But the thing is, Nick, I think you know better than anyone the kinds of things you should be called. Why don’t you tell me?”

Nick had been staring at Griffin’s hand, still flat on the bed, because eye contact is so difficult like this; but he looks up then, caught off guard, not even sure if Griffin is being serious.

“Tell you,” he echoes, and there’s a little crack in his voice that makes Griffin’s mouth quirk.

“Mhm. Come on, Nick,” and Griffin cups his cheek then, suddenly gentle. Nick leans into it; he can’t help it. Griffin is stroking a thumb just under Nick’s eye, brushing his lower lashes, and then he keeps going, over Nick’s temple and into his hair where it’s longest. He’s not pulling - he’s just there, holding Nick’s skull in the palm of his hand. “Tell me what you are.”

Nick takes a breath, feels the warmth of Griffin’s touch. Tries to dam the jumble of words rushing through his brain now, and to swallow with a suddenly dry mouth. At least now he has Griffin’s attention, no pretense that he’s unwanted or uninteresting. It’s all he wants right now, to keep the full force of that focus on him.

“Stupid,” he tries.

Griffin gives a thin, sympathetic little smile. “I think we covered that,” he says. “But sure. It’s a start.”

His thumb is moving in gentle circles on Nick’s temple, so soothing that Nick feels his eyes start to flutter shut - until Griffin’s hand tightens suddenly, squeezing at the roots of his hair.

“Jesus,” Griffin says, an edge to his voice. “Can you focus here?”

“Idiot,” Nick bursts out. Griffin raises his eyebrows.

“I’m sorry, are you calling _me_ -”

“ _I’m_ \- I’m an idiot,” Nick amends, and then has to just fucking sit and breathe for a minute, soaking in the humiliation. His pulse is almost painful in his throat and his dick. His legs are falling asleep beneath him.

“Thought so,” says Griffin. “What else?”

Nick doesn’t know why he looks up, then, pleading, as if he could expect to find anything in Griffin’s expression to say that he’s going to take pity. If anything, Griffin looks like he’s having more fun with this than either of them could have expected.

“I’m - useless,” Nick says, halting, unable to stop the quaver in his voice. His face feels like it’s on fire, his dick is so hard it hurts, and Griffin’s eyes are full of delight.

“Come here,” he says, so out of the blue that Nick blinks a few times, trying to process the words. When he doesn’t move, Griffin reaches down with an expectant lift of his eyebrows. Nick takes his hand, tries to stand, but his half-numb legs nearly give out and he has to grab the mattress to stay upright. Griffin laughs, hauls him up onto the bed, not entirely gentle.

“Ow,” Nick mutters as the feeling starts to return in pins and needles, although it doesn't hurt all that bad. It's just weird - weirder with a raging boner. Griffin’s turned his body so he's back up against the headboard, and he’s staring at Nick, inscrutable. Nick squirms. “What?”

“All you had to do,” Griffin says, smiling with half his mouth, “was say ‘Griffin, can I come up on the bed?’ ”

Nick swallows. He isn't sure Griffin would have let him that easily; but then, Griffin is full of surprises tonight. “Sorry,” he says on some bizarre reflex, and immediately feels ridiculous for apologizing.

Griffin laughs. He’s hard, too, but he’s not letting on at all. He’s sitting with his legs spread, one knee bent and an elbow resting atop it. Nick tries not to stare at the clear shape of his dick through his boxers. “Come here,” he says, for the second time now.

Nick shuffles forward on his knees, wincing at the last prickles in his calves. Griffin drops the knee as he approaches and lets him climb into his lap, stopping Nick’s movement with a hand on his chest. Their hips are far enough apart that it's a strain when Nick takes the risk and leans in, tries to steal a kiss. The hand on his chest lets him get only so close, and part of him finds that a bone-deep relief.

“You don't think you're done, do you?” Griffin asks, tilting his head a little. “I know you can come up with more than that.”

Nick opens his mouth, but it takes him a few tries to get anything out. His mind is racing with the possibilities, and he’s keenly aware of the scant inches between them, and it’s so hard to focus when all he can think about is what to say to make Griffin touch him. “I’m desperate,” is what comes out, and it’s less an insult and more a confession. Griffin looks unimpressed. “I’m pathetic?” He’s squirming a little in Griffin’s lap, not fighting the hand very hard but aching for any kind of movement.

“Pathetic,” Griffin echoes, watching him. “Yeah, I mean, trying to rub off against your own pyjamas - I think I’d call that pathetic. Get those off, hm?”

Nick shoves them down, gets off Griffin’s lap just long enough to kick them off. He tears off his T-shirt, too, while he’s at it, and when he climbs back onto Griffin’s legs there are hands at the backs of his thighs, short nails digging in. He wavers, unsure if he’s meant to come closer or stay away, but Griffin _pulls_ , scrapes the skin a little and gets a gasp out of him, and he follows the touch until his cock is brushing against the tent in Griffin’s boxers.

“You want to get off?” Griffin asks, like he doesn’t already know the answer. Nick is past being coy, grips Griffin’s arms hard.

“Yes,” he says, and he can hear the whining edge to his voice but he can’t curb it. “Griffin, please…”

“Come on,” Griffin says, and he’s pushes his boxers down his hips a little until Nick lifts his weight and they can be pushed down far enough to free Griffin’s dick. He reaches over to the nightstand where the lube is sitting and he shoves it at Nick, a little impatiently. Nick hesitates, uncertain - is he jacking Griffin off first? Himself? Is he - “Jesus, is it that confusing, put your fucking dick against mine and get us off, you idiot.”

Nick whimpers through gritted teeth, all the blood rushing from his head at the sound of that. His hands are shaking as he warms the lube up on his palm and when his dick touches Griffin’s it’s like touching a live wire. “ _Fuck_ ,” he hisses, and Griffin lets out a breath, too. He wraps a hand around them both, and Griffin tips his head back - Nick hears the gentle thud as it hits the wall.

“Nick,” Griffin says as Nick starts to jack them off. His voice has gone all tight, and these first real signs that he’s not just an indifferent observer are only driving Nick to move faster, do better.

“Talk to me,” Nick begs, his free hand grasping at Griffin’s shoulder.

“Demanding,” Griffin says, and then lets out a strained laugh. “What do you want to hear, that you’re the best I’ve ever had?” He’s grinning, all teeth, looking down his nose at Nick with half-lidded eyes. “You’re pretty good, considering.”

Nick’s whining again, but there are no words coming out. His chin drops to his chest, and he shifting his hips despite the hurried movements of his own hand; Griffin’s moving, too, he realizes, and the sight of their cocks slick and hot against each other and the sound of Griffin’s quick little panting breaths and then - the fucking _tone_ in Griffin’s voice as he starts rambling - _You wanna be less than useless, don’t you, come on, Nick, focus here, fucking get me off, come on -_

And irony of ironies, it’s Nick who comes, and he can feel the heat coiling and condensing but he can’t even warn Griffin before he’s pulsing, coming on his own stomach. Nick’s jaw is clenched but Griffin’s name makes it through his teeth, and Griffin’s hands are on his thighs again, and he’s scratching the skin all soft and sweet and it feels like static electricity is building under his skin. Nick can’t move for a minute, shaky and dazed from the aftershocks that keep coming. Griffin doesn’t say anything, just keep touching him, so nice all of a sudden. Nick wants to collapse, but he doesn’t. His hand on Griffin’s shoulder steadies him a little, and when he can breathe right again he says, “Sorry.”

Griffin shakes his head. “Shut up,” he says, and rolls his hips a little. “Just…”

Nick touches him again, and Griffin’s hands on his thighs tighten. Nick’s thumbing the head on the upstroke and keeping his hold firm, but he’s moving slow at first, trying to take in the sight and fucking _appreciate_ it, really stamp it into his memory for the next sweltering San Francisco night when all he has is this image and the memory of Griffin’s voice goading him on. Griffin’s face is flushed and his eyes are shining, sharp with surprising focus.

“Faster,” Griffin says, and shuts his eyes when Nick obeys, rolling his shoulders back against the headboard, arching into Nick’s hand. “ _Nick…_ ”

And Nick wants to talk, wants to get him there the way Griffin did, but it’s like his voice is trapped in his throat, tangled in all the emotion balled up in there - Griffin’s face is going slack and his hips are jerking up with every stroke now. Nick thinks, _fuck, I love you_ , and twists his wrist, and Griffin comes with this chest-deep groan that Nick can almost _feel_.

Griffin doesn’t take as long to recover. He bats Nick’s hand away when it gets to be too much, and then he fumbles with Nick’s arms and pulls him in, kissing him, soft and lazy. Nick shifts closer, loops his arms around Griffin’s neck, trying to ignore his gross hand and the mess they’ve made. Nick feels drained but also kind of invigorated, or at least imbued with some strange confidence he didn’t have before.

“You know what,” Nick says, nipping Griffin’s ear and making him jump. “I think I _am_ the best you ever had.”

Griffin snorts, gathering him in closer until their stomachs catch and stick to each other. “You got me,” he says. “You good?”

Nick lets his head drop onto Griffin’s shoulder. It’s a little hard on his back, slouched the way he is, but Griffin puts a hand to the back of his neck and starts scratching the short hair at the base of his skull, and Nick’s brain sort of whites out. “I’m good,” he answers, the understatement of his year.

“It wasn’t too much? I didn’t -”

“Griffin,” Nick says, and pushes his forehead against Griffin’s shoulder, the closest thing to a shove he can muster. “I said I’m good. I’m super super good. You love me?”

“I love you,” Griffin says, so immediate, the words falling over each other. “Of course I do.”

“Then I’m good.” Nick can hear the slur in his voice as he starts to drift. “If you keep doing that I’m gonna fall asleep like this.”

“We’ll wake up glued together,” Griffin says, a grimace in his voice. “Okay, hang on, I’ll go get something to clean us up with.”

“Use the water,” Nick suggests, and then laughs, so hard that when Griffin gives him a gentle push to dislodge him, he tips over onto the bed like it’s nothing.

“Great idea,” says Griffin, but he’s laughing too. Still, he makes his way into the bathroom and wets a washcloth, and when he comes back he wipes Nick’s stomach down for him.

“My nice boyfriend,” Nick sighs, still sort of out of it, letting Griffin lift his hand and wipe that too.

“Is that what I am,” Griffin says, dry, warm. He cleans himself off too, tosses the washcloth in the hamper, and slips back into bed, pulling the covers over them both. “You love me?”

“I love you,” Nick says, mumbling a little, rolling over into Griffin’s warmth. He knows they won’t sleep as soundly, tangled up like this, but he wraps himself around Griffin anyway, and Griffin wraps him up too. Griffin kisses his forehead, and Nick tries to muster the strength to call him a loser for it, but he’s too far gone to manage it. He squirms closer, and thinks that fitful dozing with Griffin is better than every deep sleep he’s ever had alone.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me or my gf about polygon rpf at [kevinspaceyvoice](kevinspaceyvoice.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


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